Savior
by Sc00ter
Summary: CJ/Ron - His sense of duty as an agent is on a collision course with his sense of duty as a man.


Title: Savior  
  
Author: Scooter  
  
Email: sekent_76@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG.  
  
Category: C.J./Ron  
  
Disclaimer: Not sure who owns it anymore except that it's not me.  
  
Summary: His sense of duty as an agent is on a collision course with his sense of duty as a man.  
  
Spoilers: Through Season 4  
  
Archive: Please let me know where, and keep my name attached.  
  
Note: This story is part of the same universe in which Doorways exists. It's not a sequel exactly; I figure it takes place around February, 2004, and the last part of Doorways was in April, 2004. So I haven't gotten around to actually writing the proposal, yet. I wanted to for this piece, but it just wasn't flowing with the rest of the story, so I've saved it for later. Hope you'll be patient, but I'll get to that part, eventually.  
  
For Kansas, who's encouraged me along and begged me several times for a sequel. Is this close enough?  
  
Feedback: would be lovely.  
  
~*~  
  
February, 2004:  
  
Ron wakes up in a cold sweat and sits up sharply. For a few seconds, he concentrates on controlling his breathing, fighting back the rush of adrenaline, and then he looks over. Thankfully, his sudden movement hasn't woken C.J., but even more thankfully, she's next to him, unharmed, safe. As his pulse gradually returns to normal, he contemplates the dream.  
  
Why now? Even immediately after Rosslyn, there had been no nightmares. Rosslyn had been a job, plain and simple, and a job pretty well done, at that. He'd lost no sleep then; this dream is new.  
  
So, why now?  
  
~*~  
  
A few nights later:  
  
"Ron?" C.J. reaches over to him, resting her hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing. "Are you all right?"  
  
He turns towards her, relieved beyond measure that she's safe, and nods. "Yeah, just a dream."  
  
C.J. looks concerned. "Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
No. Not at all. This will scare her, and he doesn't want to do that unnecessarily. Shaking his head, he replies, "It's OK, you can go back to sleep."  
  
Tilting her head, C.J. shrugs and curls up next to him, and Ron watches as she slowly drifts off. Then his mind wanders.  
  
The dream was more vivid this time, and the ending was different. He's pushing the President into the car. Doing his job, exactly as he'd done it that day almost four years ago. But C.J.'s different. More shots. Falling. Bleeding.  
  
With a grimace, Ron thinks that at least he knows why he's having the dream, now.  
  
Dammit, he doesn't have time to worry about this.  
  
~*~  
  
This shouldn't even be a concern for him. He's tougher than this. When he'd asked C.J. out, it had never occurred to him that it would ever be an issue.  
  
Protecting the President is what he does, and he's damn good at it. Secret Service agents say that they would take a bullet for the President, and Ron has always felt that it was an honor to do so. That hasn't changed.  
  
But everything else has. For the first time in his life, there is someone else he would take a bullet for. Someone else he *should* take a bullet for, should walk through fire to protect. And his sense of duty as an agent is on a collision course with his sense of duty as a man.  
  
~*~  
  
C.J. walks in the door and pauses when she sees Ron sitting on the couch, head tilted back, eyes closed. She doesn't think she's seen him this upset since Zoey's kidnapping. "Ron?" she ventures, and his eyes snap open and his back straightens.  
  
He smiles gently. "Hey, C.J."  
  
"Ron, what's wrong?" It's easy to see that he's been troubled by something over the past week or so. Ron, C.J. knows, is a fairly private person, and she usually doesn't push him, but he hasn't said anything to her yet, and she's starting to worry.  
  
Ron shakes his head. His instinct is still to protect her. "It's nothing, really. Just something I need to deal with. I don't want to worry you; I can handle it."  
  
Crossing her arms, C.J. raises an eyebrow. "I know you can handle it, whatever it is, but you can *also* drop this macho crap right now and talk to me. I can handle it, too."  
  
He can't help smiling at this. "I love you so much, you know that?"  
  
C.J.'s face softens as she moves to sit next to him on the couch. "Yes, I do, and you know I love you too, and that I'm not going to judge you."  
  
Ron regards her for a few seconds, mentally weighing his options. He hadn't wanted to involve her; even if it's sort of about her, there didn't seem to be a reason to bring her into contact with his irrational demons. But apparently, he's not as good at controlling his emotions around her as he is with everyone else in his life. Not a surprise; he hasn't given so much of himself to another in a very long time, maybe ever.  
  
So, now she knows something's wrong, and if he continues to evade her, she'll get really scared. Certainly, he doesn't want that; he'd do anything to avoid that. Logically, the choice is made.  
  
He takes her hand, and hesitates briefly, trying to determine how to frame the conversation. "C.J., does my job scare you?"  
  
~*~  
  
"Scare me?"  
  
Ron nods. "Yes. I go to work every day fully prepared to give my life for the President. You know there's a risk that someday I'll have to. Does that scare you?"  
  
Looking down at their joined hands, C.J. thinks for a moment before responding. They've never had this conversation. "Yes, it does, a bit, but," she fumbles for a second, "it's not something I think about all that often."  
  
Ron clears his throat. "I remember how you were when Simon died . I would think that-"  
  
Now she cuts him off. "Ron, this is who you are. It's what you do. I wouldn't want you to . it's part of what I love about you. I know the risks. I can live with them." She pauses. "Is that what's bothering you? You think your job will scare me so much that I'll."  
  
Shaking his head, Ron sighs, "No. No, I know better than that." He touches her face with his fingertips. "You wouldn't have gotten into this if you couldn't deal with that possibility." C.J. nods and then looks at him quizzically. Taking a deep breath, Ron continues, "I've been having dreams about Rosslyn."  
  
C.J. isn't expecting this. As she traces her thumb over the small scar on his right hand, she asks, "For how long?"  
  
"The last two weeks."  
  
"Before then, when was the last time you'd had those dreams?"  
  
"I hadn't."  
  
C.J.'s head jerks up in surprise. "You hadn't."  
  
"No." Ron is holding her hand tightly. "There wasn't any sort of trauma associated with Rosslyn when it happened. It just was. I got the President in the car."  
  
"You did well that day." C.J.'s voice is quiet; this isn't something she likes to remember.  
  
"I know." There's a bit of pride in Ron's demeanor. "It's what I do. We're trained very well; if there's any danger, the instincts just kick in."  
  
"So, why are you dreaming about it now if it didn't bother you then?"  
  
Ron meets her eyes. "Because I wasn't in love with you at Rosslyn."  
  
~*~  
  
"Ron," C.J.'s clasping his hand tightly, "would you have reacted any differently at Rosslyn if we'd been together at the time?" She's shaking a bit; the idea of their relationship putting the President in jeopardy isn't something she wants to address.  
  
He shakes his head vigorously. "Absolutely not. I would have done exactly the same thing."  
  
"I didn't think otherwise." There's a tinge of relief in her voice. "You're too good at your job to let anything else affect it. Even me."  
  
"That doesn't bother you?" Ron is very direct in his asking of the question, unwilling to break eye contact.  
  
The surprise is evident in C.J.'s voice. "No. I'm proud of you. Not to mention grateful. God, Ron, I've been shot at twice in the last four years; I'm not sure I'd still be here if you weren't so good at your job."  
  
He can't hide the flinch when she says that, and her eyes widen. "Ron?" A realization. "It troubles *you*." He nods slowly. Really, she's not sure she wants to know, but, "Tell me about the dreams."  
  
~*~  
  
"It starts pretty close to how it happened," Ron begins haltingly. This isn't easy to discuss, even with the person who knows him best and loves him best. "We're walking out of the Newseum, there are shots, I'm throwing the President in the car ... and then I turn around, and I see you get hit."  
  
C.J. takes deep breath. This sounds similar to some of the nightmares she had immediately after Rosslyn. "Go on," she murmurs.  
  
He's squeezing her hand so tightly that it's almost painful. "A bullet hits you square in the chest, and you fall. And all I can do is get the President in the car. I can't save you."  
  
For a few minutes, C.J. doesn't say anything, absorbing Ron's description of the dream and calculating its implications. Finally, "Ron, you were supposed to get the President in the car. It's not your responsibility to save me."  
  
"As an agent, no," he agrees. "As somebody who loves you, I'm not so sure."  
  
C.J. shakes her head. "No, when you're with the President, you're an agent first and my lover second. I don't begrudge you that, Ron. You're doing something important."  
  
Ron shrugs. "I know that. I even know that this nightmare scenario my mind has come up with isn't likely to happen. Heck, we don't get shot at all the time, and I spend most of my time in the White House. I don't even work on the active details that often."  
  
"But." C.J. prompts.  
  
"But the thought of having to forsake you to protect the President makes me sick to my stomach."  
  
~*~  
  
"Ron," C.J. begins to speak, gently, "you can't protect me all the time."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I mean," she continues, glancing at the floor, "there are no guarantees. I could be hit by a bus. So could you. You asked me earlier if your job scares me, and it does a bit, but no more than any other possibility." Reaching over to caress his cheek, "There's no point in worrying over every risk."  
  
He nods. "I know. The thought of seeing you in trouble, being close enough to help you but not being able to . I'd never forgive myself."  
  
"OK." C.J. voice has become almost stern. "Let's get a few things clear. One, if something happens to me, I don't want you to blame yourself, and I'll kick your ass from beyond if you do."  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Ron comments, seriously, "I think I could take your ghost."  
  
C.J. glares at him, even as she admits to herself that he's probably right. "Second, Ron, you're the most chivalrous man I know," now her face softens, "and I love you dearly for that, but I can take care of myself. I don't need you to save me."  
  
Ron blushes slightly. "I know." He's never doubted her capabilities or her strength. He's also never doubted the goodness of the people around her: Sam in Rosslyn, Will and Toby in the pressroom. "Just because you don't need me to protect you doesn't mean I don't feel like I should."  
  
They sit in silence for a few minutes.  
  
"You know what's the difference between you and me?" C.J. asks eventually.  
  
Furrowing his brow, "What?"  
  
"You knew before you started working for President Bartlet that you might have to give your life for him. I didn't realize that I might have to until a couple of years later."  
  
Ron considers that for a second. "Rosslyn?"  
  
With a quick nod, "Yeah. It honestly didn't occur to me that I'd be at risk by working for him. After Rosslyn, I had a choice: accept that I could die while serving the President, or leave."  
  
Ron wraps his arms around her now, pulling her closer. "And you chose to stay and serve."  
  
"I did. Feel any better?"  
  
He does, a little, though he knows it's going to take some time for him to fully reconcile the situation. But he is also completely certain that he eventually will do just that; he doesn't run away from tough situations. "Yeah, I do. Thank you."  
  
C.J. stands now, extending her hand. "Come to bed. You don't have to figure it all out tonight."  
  
~*~  
  
When she walks into his office a few days later and closes the door, he doesn't react. He knows the pattern. If something is on her mind, she'll sit for a minute in the chair next to his desk, fidgeting for 30 seconds, cross her legs, and then-  
  
"Ron, I've been thinking."  
  
- start talking.  
  
He sets aside his threat assessment report. "Yes?"  
  
"You've been in the Secret Service for a while."  
  
"Twenty five years."  
  
"And you've trained incoming agents before?"  
  
"You know I have." It's a little disconcerting that he hasn't figured out what she wants. Normally, he can judge a person's intentions ten seconds after they walk into a room, and reading C.J. usually takes even less time.  
  
"Would you train me?"  
  
This is unexpected. "C.J., I know you're not looking to join the Secret Service."  
  
She shakes her head. "No, but I'd like you to give me some of the same training. Self defense, responding to situations, reflexes."  
  
The confusion hasn't abated, which makes him very uncomfortable. "C.J., you've taken women's self defense courses before. If you're looking for a refresher, I can certainly recommend-"  
  
"Ron." She says his name sharply, and he meets her eyes, still uncertain what she's asking for. "I don't want to take a class. I want you to train me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I want you to know that I can protect myself, that in a dangerous situation, you have taught me exactly what to do. While you're saving the President, you'll know that I'm doing everything possible to save myself, and you'll know that I'm doing it right because you taught me how."  
  
It finally registers, what she's doing. She's allowing him, to the extent possible, to protect her, to save her. For just a second, he's at a loss for words, and then he smiles slightly and nods.  
  
"OK. I can do that."  
  
"Good." She stands up, smoothing her skirt. "We can start tonight?"  
  
"We'll go to the gym when you're done here."  
  
"OK." Ron gazes at the doorway long after she's left his vision. For the first time in weeks, he feels the anxiety ease. In one gesture, she's granted him the privilege of saving her, and maybe she's saved him, too.  
  
END 


End file.
